


Coal Ashes - By: AMonsterDamn (Translated)

by Shiny_Primarina



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: F/M, Rough Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 22:52:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14840726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiny_Primarina/pseuds/Shiny_Primarina
Summary: Not my story, it’s by AMonsterDamn but I translated it into English





	Coal Ashes - By: AMonsterDamn (Translated)

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Coal ashes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12693702) by [AMonsterDamn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMonsterDamn/pseuds/AMonsterDamn). 



Floating always seemed to the person something improbable and unattainable. Floating symbolized freedom for a person when he is free to fly where his eyes look like a bird, soar in clouds like white cotton candy, to float on the air river from the excess of earthly souls attracting the senses.

It seems that you can touch with your hand - the very tips of your fingers - the azure sky, and from your touch, it will pour into colorful colors, which until then are not known to human souls. And you - the captain of his air sailboat, floating on this boundless ocean of dreams, and you are not burdened by anything earthly that so pulls down. To this sinful land, where you are killed not by falling, but by killing the landing. 

It turns out that in hell, too, you can swim through the air. Like on carousel horses, circling around a mountain of forgotten objects belonging to lost children's souls. The dark tower of this, roughly naming, junk stretched to the very top, to the cold light, which really should belong to the hot sun.

Beverly forces herself to rise from the dirty ground, feeling the bells still ringing in her head, giving way to dull pain in both hemispheres of the human brain. The whiskey pulsed, and the veil did not allow her to focus her eyes, which made her padded legs stumble over invisible obstacles. The body falls, exposing her hands forward, and the spray of turbid water scattered to the sides. The hem of her dress absorbs this mucus, and rusty stains remain on the fabric.

She wants to fall flat and just stay so. A cold and forgotten corpse, just not to feel part of this nightmare, but Beverly struggles. She gets up off the ground and looks around with a stunned glance at this dark tower, consisting of millions of children's things, while their dead masters are hovering around. She remembers her history class, when they had just begun to study ancient Greece. She remembers about the gods in which the Greeks believed, and then the underground kingdom of Hades comes to mind.

Beverly shuddered when she heard echoes from the walls, the distorted play of the music box, which screams that she awaits an unforgettable joy, tears, laughter and death, is heard echoing to the ears. Beverly does not feel horror, rather confusion and surprise, when a scene appears in front of her, a bright firework flares up and this clown dances. She noticed an open hatch in the distance, throws a last look at all the absurdity that this monster gets up, and rushes to meet what will lead to freedom.

He’s slow for a creature like himself. If it is a “he” at all. But it's stupid to stand still, then the antelope would have been the easiest prey for a lion. And yet, lions do not always miss the desired prey, in one jump reaching their goal and clawing their claws and fangs into the flesh.

Foreign fingers in white gloves close on a thin and tender neck, lift a light body above the ground, her feet wildly kicking, not wishing to be this monster’s next meal. Pennywise could easily curtail this delicate grace in his grip. Just put his thumbs on the trachea, and it would all end in no time. But he shouts, shakes his head like a idiot, and makes terrible faces, but it all seems so childish and stupid that Beverly just suppresses the desire to yawn.

Of all the Losers, she grew up much earlier than they could imagine, and it is better not to imagine them when she ceased to be that little girl. Though her father never went any farther than touching, Beverly had long since lost that bright side of the carelessness and naivety of childhood.  
Next to her was Bill, who had lost his younger brother.

“I am not afraid of you!” Beverly croaked, nailing her fingernails into a white glove. Choking was chosen slowly enough to give her any chance to fight back.

The clown frowned. Light perplexity and confusion flashed on his make-up covered face, and Beverly barely had time to catch it. He sharply shortened the distance between them, so close that both felt someone else's breath. His nostrils flared, deeply inhaling the smell of her fear. He angrily snorted and turned away, as if he sensed something disgusting. Beverly ironically pursed her lips, because he lives in a constant stench, but he doesn’t seemed to be fazed by it at all. 

Poisonous yellow eyes, like molten gold, burned with unkind fire. Too devastating and terrible to forget about the beauty of the January embers and the desire to burn in them.

“You will be.” He threatened. 

Sentence. It is pronounced before the executioner is going to cut off your head, swinging an ax, whose sharpened sharp blade flashes in daylight, the sound cuts through the air, and blood spills into a place of dead silence.

Beverly didn’t understand how she ended up on wooden boards. Only a throbbing pain in the back of her head reminded her that she had been hurled harshly. Her lungs knocked out all the air, so she coughed violently and tried to draw in that precious oxygen. The bright light blocked off the massive, looming figure of the clown. She freezes, feeling deja vu. It seemed like she was just in this situation, lying on her back, frightened and helpless - until she rebuffed - only instead of Pennywise it was her father.

But her father is no more. She should have nothing to fear. And yet, her body begins to shake from the realization that this clown is hanging over her small frame just like her father? Beverly wondered what more she could possibly be afraid of? What would he possibly do with her?

She lifts her blue eyes, though her vision is out of focus, from the swirling in her head until she notices an anticipating ominous grin. He reveals sharp teeth and saliva drips disgustingly over her neck and face. She shivers when a slobbery tongue runs a path along the closed line of her lips and presses hard, trying to break through this barrier of her soft and snow-white flesh.

“Float with Me.” He whispers.

She shakes her head, trying to turn away but a rough hand clasps her face and painfully pushes her cheeks. He was strong, like he would be able to crush her head with his hands. At that moment she her mouth opened in an uncontrollable yell.

His tongue penetrates her soft mouth and touches the back of her throat, filling every empty space. Beverly opens her eyes wide, she felt tears starting to well, tears of resentment roll down Her light freckled cheek. She wanted to vomit. 

Beverly, like any girl, dreamed of sweet innocent kisses. She pictured herself next to Bill as they held hands and barely touched their lips together, leaving their sins on one another. What was happening now is just too real, too cheeky, too disgusting, as if an animal was trying to swallow her whole.

She remembers every mockery, every slander that followed her with a shadow at school. She was thrown into the back of the insult, asking in parallel how much she had pumped. And the most terrible thing, Beverly could only now imagine and understand those feelings that never happened to her, and they are just disgusting, even if it's just a language. The language of the monster.

She aggressively yelps against his mouth, as he intercepts her fighting hands, which moved to her hips, painfully tearing her shorts along with her light blue panties. She felt scratches on her skin as if he magically sprouting claws. She invests all the force she can, strikes, kicks, whichever way she can muster but it’s not enough, he’s like a mountain that can not be moved. Like the mountain for which man is just a bug. The very mountain that was before you, and will remain after.

The foreign tongue finally leaves her throat, Beverly yells and tries to spit out the thick saliva he left in her mouth, but a clawed hand rests on her head, pressing her left cheek down to the boards. With his other hand he aggressively raises her hips above the ground, and Beverly struggles more than she thought she was capable of. 

“No! Don’t! Please! Let me go!” She begged.

“It's time to float Beverly...” his hot whisper burns against her earlobe, claws scratch her scalp, reeling in red - coals in January embers and curls into a fist.

One sharp movement. It can be compared with a sharp arrowhead, piercing her soft and supple flesh. Or with a cutting blow of the samurai sword, performing a strike. Was this what floating was?

Painfully Beverly sharply chokes in air as she felt something foreign, something which tears up everything untouched, untainted, and it feels as if she will burst at any second. She still has a somewhat naivety about the human anatomy and doesn’t know how deeply this thing penetrated her, but he slips like a knife into the meat, cutting the muscle tissue to the endless streams of blood. Eyes filled the veil of hot tears. Time stood still, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

She doesn’t want to cry, especially in front of this monster. He doesn’t spare any kindness and Beverly feels the rough inertia of his thrusting reaches her rib cage. But she cries, as if someone turned the handle from the tap in her eyes, and a stream of hot tears poured down her red cheeks, falling onto the wooden floor. 

Gradually but unwillingly she feels her body adjust and stretch in the most explicit way. Beverly shuts her eyes tightly and bites her lip, and plunges her world into darkness to escape from a terrible reality.

In pitch darkness it's good. It's like you're sleeping and don’t wake up at all. In this darkness of consciousness, she doesn’t care. Such an endless starless cosmos in your head.

The cliff is bristling, blown away by the summer wind. She jumps from the edge to meet her short, but free flight, so that later the body sweeps the space of invigorating lake water. A film of memories of the losers with whom she spent the last good and bad days was scrolled. And everything that is happening can’t seem like a dream, from everywhere there was an unpleasant horror, binding the consciousness.

It was then she noticed that Pennyvise released her head, placing clawed dark hands on the wooden boards by her face, visible only in profile. He scratches the floor with them. It resembles the actions of a cat, which hooks it’s claws into any surface when something is enjoyed. Pennywise grunts and she feels drool fall into her hair. He feels euphoric while she only feels desecration, Beverly experienced pure horror, which only added fuel to the fire. Pennywise wanted more.

Even in spite of the endless torture, the air around them became warm and she could hear his constricted breathing. She no longer feels the frost from the walls of the sewer but instead sweat, heat. She felt her limbs go numb.

Disgusting squelching sounds after every thrust caused her to loathe herself and she felt her stomach twist. Everything was mixed up: the smell of sewage and blood, horror and loathing for everything. She tried to sharply sit up on her elbows, feeling the spasms go through her body like waves. Inside, there was a void and a messy feeling along with shame and disgust. 

She is no longer a little girl. Neither morally nor physically. Morally, she grew up because of her father, and Pennywise completed what he had started. Beverly heard “whore" so many times in her direction, not even imagining what she really feels during sexual intercourse. No one would want to experience what she experienced. 

Pennywise enthusiastically throws back his head, reveling in the helplessness of the young, writhing girl beneath him. He likes this feeling. Feeling of complete domination, power and horror. Beverly Marsh, for him, was a welcome tidbit from all the other kids and the main threat along with Bill Denborough.

He still remembered how she bravely rushed to meet him with an iron rod in her hands. Pennywise even admired her to some extent, that this little girl, who was under the weight of life circumstances, society and her father, continued to struggle and learn to fly. But flying isn’t the way he wants this. He knows she’s afraid, but still, underneath it all is a little bird with broken wings, trying to preserveer. 

He twirls the thought in his mind, and when he turns to face her, Beverly musters the will to look deep into his glowing eyes. He looks like he did when they were in the house on Neibolt Street, when she pierced his head with a wrought iron. The whole width of a terrible white face with shark teeth, from which was dripping an abundant amount of saliva, is no longer frightening. Beverly suddenly realizes that what has happened can’t be fixed. Instead of horror, only disgust and hatred remained and something like detachment and indifference. For him and only him.

"I hate you!" she spits out, trying to look only at his face because she knew it would kill her to look down. There, where something thick penetrates her and her innocence. She’s not sure of the size but he feels big and definitely inhuman. It tears her up, poisoning her from within. Her hand instinctively covers her lower abdomen, the place where the pulsating emits from. Pennywise frowns, leans too close, and again inhales the girl's natural smell. There is nothing. The coveted fear is gone and only anger, resentment, disgust and hatred remain.

He growls fiercely, and after a moment sharp teeth bite the tender flesh of her shoulder. Beverly cried out. Her flesh and dress are painted with a hot stream of blood.  
Blood. The scarlet color is branded on her skin. Blood on her shoulders, chest, neck, back. Blood on her dress. Blood on the inside of her sticky thighs.

Beverly didn’t understand how her life could be so unfair to her? What sin did she ever commit?  
Shouts are getting louder, teeth digging into the flesh deeper, the inertia of jolts is mounting.

"Help ... Somebody ... Bill."

The thoughts turned into an echo of a dream, so that it all ended and she stayed alive. It became a habit: to dream about something that you don’t expect at all because of weak hope.  
Here it is, that destructive fire, covering all living things and burning everything in it’s path. The green forest, where once a cool breeze was walking, the sun came through the tree crowns, giving the coveted summer heat, was now burned to the ground, together by living beings who had not managed to escape from their death. After the fire, there is always ashes, ashes and ashes.

Beverly arched her back trying to somehow distance herself from something burning; a flowing lava inside her. A rough tongue licks the blood from her wound, and then moves to her neck, face, compressed lips, licking the remnants of salty moisture. She does not deny herself a sigh of relief when Pennywise leaves her, leaving a dull throbbing pain and a trickling feeling coming out of her. Below is an emptiness, and she mournfully rejoices that her body again belongs only to her.

She covers her eyes, turning over on her side. The heat recedes, and the cold reams in her skin with thousands of ice needles. She thinks with irony that she must look like a corpse, forgotten and cold, like coal under the ashes.

She feels something flowing out from between her thighs and she’s not sure if it’s blood or... But it’s still hot, like her insides in the bottom of her stomach. She sees a rag and reaches out for it recognizing it as her shorts with underwear. It's a miracle that all this remained intact. She does not pay attention to Pennywise, who watches with interest as she pulls herself together still lying on her side. Even now, all tattered, humiliated, pathetic and useless, she still remains so beautiful that he wants to dirty her again.

He did not get what he wanted and Beverly is still trying to get up, rising on her trembling hands. She hisses, her whole body sore and not quite finding the strength to rise to her feet, so she just crawls away.

"I have to get up. I have to get out. Come on.” She mutters to herself. 

He closes the distance between them with an unknown speed, lifting her over the ground. He spared her throat, holding her under her armpits. Beverly does not kick and she does not fight, again looking at him with that look that screams: "Do what you want, but you will not scare me! You do not own me. Neither you nor my father. No one."

The heart of the bird in his hands no longer beats clearly. He doesn’t get to enjoy this ‘triumph’ because no matter how hard he tries he could not break her. But he tries again.

Pennywise suddenly opens his mouth so widely that Beverly is reminded of the mouth of a crocodile with the same number of teeth. Inside his throat glow three lights, so bright. She suddenly relaxes. Their light is so pleasant, so soothing. She reaches out to these lights, forgetting herself, forgetting all that has happened. Her eyes cloud over, the beautiful iris of blue is clouded by the impenetrable gray smoke that remains after a giant forest fire.  
Pennywise does not let her go. He holds his soulless doll in his hands, smiling madly.

“You'll float with me here forever Bevvy."  
She doesn’t hear him now. Doesn’t understand. Doesn’t see. Doesn’t feel...and this is good for her.

He lets her go gently, letting her soar above the ground, and grins rapaciously, feeling that these nasty children have appeared in the sewer tunnels, whose flesh he will regale when he's finished with them. He disappears, leaving his puppet in the same place. Her head is thrown back towards the dark tower, where children glide. 

Beverly is floating. She's finally floating.


End file.
